


Shower Me With Love

by JanaNa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanaNa/pseuds/JanaNa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been almost seven years since the renovations to the Hale house have been finished; it's been seven years since Derek has gotten his pack together and, over those seven years, he's watched it grow.</p><p>It's been almost five years since Derek made Stiles his mate, and, despite their differences, they can't imagine having it any other way. </p><p>Sometimes, however, trouble comes knocking, such as in the form of a new group of hunters. Suddenly the pack is on the defensive, and Derek has everyone at arm's length with his volatile Alpha mood.</p><p>Fortunately for Derek, Stiles knows just how to bring him around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shower Me With Love

The Hale house has been renovated for almost seven years now, and since that time, it’s become the hub of all werewolf activity in Beacon Hills and a quickly growing lupine commune. Derek, who is still the world’s worst people-person, has begrudgingly accepted the fact that he will never be completely alone in his house anymore; as the Alpha, he understands that dealing with his pack members is a 24/7 job, but a part of him can never fully get used to the fact that there are constantly people cycling in and out of his home: Scott and Kira, with their cub, who is nearly two now, Jackson, Lydia, Cora, Boyd, Isaac…a few other new members…and, of course, Stiles. 

Stiles, who is Derek’s mate. 

Stiles, who is the only person Derek doesn’t mind having around (ninety-nine percent of the time).

They have been mates for nearly five years now, and, while there are times Derek and Stiles have no idea why (Derek still thinks Stiles talks too much, and Stiles still complains Derek talks too little), they couldn’t be happier. They get each other in a way that surprises Derek every time; when he takes a moment during their busy lives to really watch Stiles doing ordinary things, like sitting at the computer in the evening or drinking a glass of water after filling it at the sink, he marvels at how the years have gone by and how they’ve already been together so long; when Stiles looks up and catches him watching, a small smile meant only for Derek blooming across his lips, Derek immediately knows why they’ve been able to make it work and wouldn’t change anything for the world.

Despite the pieces of their pack slowly coming together and learning to run smoothly over the years, sometimes things don’t always go as planned. The past couple of months in the Hale house have been less than idyllic. Since the Argents have all but disappeared, a new group of hunters have been trying to encroach on the werewolves’ territory, and Derek has been in a constant state of antagonism, his guard always up; his patience, already practically non-existent, has such a short fuse even his pack members have been doing their best to steer clear. Stiles weathers Derek’s irate Alpha behavior the same way he always has: he doesn’t take it personally, and he’s always quick to snap right back with his quick wit. For all intents and purposes, however, there is a degree to which Stiles puts up a façade when dealing with Derek in front of the other pack members: their relationship, especially since these hunters have come around and sent everyone into a flurry of raised hackles, has been nothing but professional, efficient. But when the day comes to a close and the constant stream of people coming and going winds down, Stiles reverts back to his old self, albeit Derek has had no time for the small intimacies they usually enjoy, and Stiles understands that. Over the past few weeks, the only consoling affections they’ve shared have been fleeting touches here and there, such as Stiles' hand on Derek’s knee as they eat dinner or Derek’s appreciative arm around Stiles shoulder as they settle on the couch. Sometimes, as they climb into bed, one or the other will spark a particular interest in initiating sex, but that’s really all it ever ends up being, a spark; it’s not because they’re not interested, but the stresses on their pack leave their efforts aborted. They give each other understanding, apologetic looks and settle on slow kisses and light petting before falling asleep in each other’s arms; Stiles is ok with this. Despite some contrary evidence and what others may think, he can be patient, especially with Derek; he’s had lots of practice over the years being patient with Derek.

During one particularly difficult day, after having confronted the hunters’ leader about approaching his pack and getting nowhere other than intensely riled, Derek comes home, only to then alienate Scott during a fight over their differences on strategy. Derek is in such a dark mood after all of it that even Stiles knows it’s best to keep his distance and his mouth shut. Not long after, Stiles clears everyone out of the house early and leaves to catch up with Scott. Derek and Scott are always butting heads, and even though this time was exceptionally bad, Stiles has no doubt that both Derek and Scott will come around eventually. The whole mess with these increasingly bold hunters has left everyone on edge, but Scott and Derek more so.  


When Stiles swoops Scott and Kira’s daughter, Ali, up into his arms as he’s watching Scott run his hands through his hair, angry, anxious eyes cast out the window, he knows it’ll take quite a bit of time to mend the rift Derek has torn between them. Scott is mostly understanding though and thankful for Stile’s presence; Stiles reassures him, in that snarky way of his, that despite Derek’s Alpha machismo, he won’t be able to hold down the fort for long without Scott’s help. Derek will give in and reconcile sooner than they probably think. 

After having dinner Kira insists must be free of “shoptalk” and playing a couple rounds of hide-and-seek with their little girl, Stiles says his goodbyes and makes for home. There isn’t much more he himself can do to bridge the ravine the violent argument left in its wake, but he knows that things will work out; they always do. Their pack—their family—has weathered far worse than an annoyingly brash group of new hunters.

When Stiles gets to the house, there’s no one around, not even Derek, as far as Stiles can tell; Derek’s absence isn’t particularly odd, especially after what happened, so Stiles doesn’t think much of it. He walks into the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge, thankful the others haven’t cleared it out yet. It’s so quiet as he stands in front of the sink, staring out the window, and drinking his beer leisurely; the silence is nice, as well as eerie. He’s grateful for the moment alone, but a part of him wishes Derek was here, even if he’d most certainly be an extraordinarily bad tempered grouch.

After idly wandering around the empty house and finishing his beer, Stiles goes upstairs to enjoy a long, hot shower in the master bathroom; as he walks through the bedroom he’s shared with Derek for all these years, he smiles to himself: this is their space. It’s the one room in the entire house where no one else steps foot; this is where their private lives occur, where they let their guards down. Stiles thinks how this is the one place where Derek feels completely comfortable, where Derek lets Stiles see a side of himself kept hidden away from everyone else. It makes him feel painfully warm inside to be that special someone, as if he’s been physically hit right in the chest with Cupid’s arrow. _Christ, I love that idiot._ Stiles chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly and marveling at how, even after so many years, it still feels so exhilarating.

Once in the spacious bathroom, Stiles sheds his clothes and steps into the wonderfully hot spray of the shower; as he runs his fingers through his short hair, he feels his shoulders begin to relax, his muscles softening under the pressure of the water. Even for Stiles, who has the attention span of a goldfish, a nice, hot shower is something to be enjoyed slowly, especially when he doesn’t have to worry about having to be anywhere or answer to anyone afterwards.

As Stiles is running shampoo through his hair, he hears the bathroom door open and squeak shut, the rustling of clothes, and the shower curtain slide back along the rod; he has his back to Derek, but he still lets a smile play across his lips. Derek is quiet as he steps into the shower, and Stiles scoots over so he can stand directly under the water. Stiles is still rubbing shampoo into his hair when he turns around and finds Derek with his head tilted back, his eyes shut, and his dark hair plastered under the steady stream of water; it’s comforting to Stiles to see Derek looking more relaxed, even though his lips are still set in a firm, severe line and his brow is furrowed; to some extent, it seems these traits are part of his default expression and therefore can’t strictly be held against him. And, while Stiles has mastered the art of reading between the lines of Derek’s resting bitch face, he can sense a lingering and unusual worry there, a bristling anxiety bordering on violence, like he can’t quite completely suppress the wolf in him.

Stiles squeezes out more shampoo into his hands and reaches up to gently tilt Derek’s head forward, out of the water; with his eyes still closed, Derek wordlessly lets Stiles have his way, which is a rare enough thing. Stiles runs his hands through Derek’s hair until he works the shampoo into a good lather; he massages Derek’s scalp with his fingertips and is careful not to let shampoo get into his eyes or ears. Derek would never admit it, but he loves this; Stiles can see that he’s quickly unwinding, the tension of the past few weeks slowly bleeding out of his shoulders, the hard lines on his face smoothing out, making him look younger, vulnerable. Stiles leans forward to press a small kiss to Derek’s temple before angling his head back to let the water rinse the shampoo out. Derek stands placidly under the shower head as Stiles goes about his own business again with the body wash. After a few minutes, Derek takes a peek at him and sees that he’s nearly done; side-stepping out from under the spray, Derek switches places with Stiles, their naked bodies momentarily brushing past each other, warm and familiar.

As Stiles rinses the body wash away, Derek watches him, the intent in his eyes hard to decipher; when he catches him looking, Stiles feels a promising thrill run down his spine and grins. When he’s done, he steps forward and motions for Derek to turn around and Derek does; Derek’s skin is almost scorching beneath his hands and he revels in the way Derek’s muscles move smoothly beneath his fingers, all sinewy and firm. Stiles lathers up some body wash between his hands and begins to knead the tight planes of Derek’s back; the pads of Stiles’ thumbs rub circles between his shoulder blades, and his fingers press hard on the rigid muscles in his neck. The force Stiles applies would have put anyone else off massages for life, but Stiles knows how Derek likes it, knows there’s no other way to get him to loosen up if it isn’t hard. 

Derek lets out a grunt, and puts his arm out against the wall for support. Stiles keeps at it, his hands fluid and firm as he works his way down Derek’s back; Stiles can tell it’s working because Derek’s shoulders fall out of that constantly stiff hunch he’s prone to adopting and his body bends slightly, his muscles stretching as if they haven’t in years. When Stiles gets to the small of Derek’s back, right above his ass, and kneads hard on a particularly troublesome spot, Derek straightens up and hisses; Stiles wipes away soap from a spot on Derek’s shoulder and gives it a lingering kiss in apology. He continues massaging a bit longer before running his hands up and down the long planes of Derek’s back, smoothing everything out; his hands travel over Derek’s tattoo until he circles around to run his hands down Derek’s arms. Stiles has Derek take a few steps backward to let the hot water dissolve the rest of his tension away and the body wash goes with it; Derek rolls his shoulders a few times and sighs deeply, content.

For a while, the two stand motionless in the shower, happy to be in each other's presence, to drink in the peaceful moment that’s all their own. But before long, Stiles steps out of the spray again and molds himself to Derek’s back, his arms coming around to clasp around his middle. Derek makes an appreciative sound, a gravelly rumble Stiles can feel reverberate through his own skin. He leans his cheek against Derek’s shoulder and watches water droplets roll down Derek’s golden skin; on a whim, Stiles sticks his tongue out to lick one up, and he can feel Derek stiffen in momentary surprise. Derek relaxes once more as Stiles does it again, this time his tongue lingering, his lips sucking the skin lightly, relishing the way Derek tastes. To say Derek relaxed was probably an understatement, because he begins to melt into Stiles’ touch; he leans back into Stiles’ embrace and tips his head forward so Stiles can suck at the juncture of Derek’s neck and shoulder. Stiles can’t help it that this alone is enough to make him hard, especially since it’s been so long; from what he can tell, Derek can smell the arousal on him too, because Derek lets out a low, long growl. Not a menacing growl, but a needy Alpha mate growl; it’s as much a warning as it is an invitation, and it has Stiles heady with want. Desire hits him with such force that he swears his knees turn to jello and he stifles a moan by pressing his lips to Derek’s back again. His hands begin to wander from where they are placed against Derek’s abs; one heads up while the other goes down, and Derek shudders. He downright shudders, and his body is tense all over again, but not with anger. Stiles brushes a thumb over Derek’s hardened nipple and his other combs through the tight curls of Derek’s pubic hair, deftly avoiding his achingly hard cock in favor of cupping his generous balls in a deliciously firm grip. Derek lets out a deep hum of both pleasure and frustration, and Stiles lets the tips of his fingers graze over his blazingly hot, stiff dick. Derek finds it difficult to hold himself in check despite enjoying the teasing foreplay; the urge to mate Stiles was always overwhelming, but right now it’s almost unbearable. He’s sure if he turns around, there won’t be anything to stop him from jumping Stiles’ bones.

Stiles can tell how badly Derek wants to fuck him, and it’s absolutely one of the most thrilling feelings in the whole world. Stiles decides to give Derek a bit of a break and his fingers curl into a tight fist around Derek’s leaking cock, making Derek choke back a gasp. Stiles lets his teeth graze against the soft skin of Derek’s shoulder as he pulls his fist up the length of Derek’s dick in a fantastically tight stroke. Derek curses and can’t help but thrust upward into Stile’s fist; the friction isn’t nearly enough.

 _“Stiles.”_ Derek barks out and his voice is wrecked. In reply, Stiles bites down once more on Derek’s neck and drags his hand down Derek’s length, the purple head of his cock squeezing through Stile’s tight fist in a poor mimicry of real sex; Derek slams his fist against the shower wall. To drive Derek even more wild, Stiles dares to let his free hand wander down to Derek’s ass after first running his fingers through the copious amounts of pre-come leaking from his twitching member. Stiles’ forefinger delves between Derek’s ass cheeks and slowly nudges at the furl of muscle there, begging for entrance; it has taken them several years to get to the point where Derek would allow Stiles to penetrate him, and even after, it was still rare. Derek stiffens up as Stiles keeps pressing, but he doesn’t try to stop him; Stiles murmurs sweet nothings into the nape of Derek’s neck, urging him to relax. Once Stiles finally manages to get the tip of his finger into Derek’s tight, warm heat, he crooks his finger down into Derek’s prostate just at the same time as he flicks his wrist and his fist squeezes over Derek’s hypersensitive cock head. Derek nearly howls as his hips stutter back and forth, desperate. Stiles keeps his own frantic moans quiet by ruthlessly sucking a painful hickey into the skin right over Derek’s shoulder blade; when he pulls his swollen lips away, he takes pleasure in the whorl of blue and yellow blossoming over his skin and the fact that it’ll be there for at least a couple days.

Stiles is so turned on, his brain feels like it’s in a fog that keeps him two seconds behind real time because suddenly Derek is on him in what seems to be the span of a second. Stiles nearly loses his breath as Derek backs him up into a wall, his strong arms hoisting Stiles up so he has to brace himself with his legs crossed behind Derek’s back; their bodies are mashed together as close as they can get, and Derek is wildly rutting against him, the slide of his cock on the underside of Stiles’ ass is slick and extraordinarily hot. Derek looks less like a man and more like a wolf as he growls into Stile’s skin, and Stiles wonders briefly, excitedly, if he can feel the graze of claws against his thighs.

“Nnngh,” Derek lets out an urgent deep groan, his frayed breath intense against Stiles’ neck, and Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, bringing them even closer together, chest to chest. Derek begins frantically rubbing himself against Stiles any way he can; his face is buried in the curve of Stiles’ shoulder and neck, his lips mouthing at his clavicle, nipping at the thin skin there. Stiles feels goose bumps rise on his skin whenever Derek marks him, leaves his scent on him; it makes him so ridiculously hard, he thinks he might pass out. Derek must have picked up on Stiles’ sudden, heightened arousal because he presses himself flush against his mate and tries desperately to angle his cock into the crevice of Stiles’ tight ass; Derek’s mouth comes to rest against the shell of Stiles’ ear, his lips wet and his breath fast, ruffling Stiles’ hair.

“Want me to fuck you?” Derek demands, dark and velvety smooth, in control, and Stiles shudders, “Want me to breed you, Stiles?” Derek continues, “God, I’ll fill you up so good; I’ll give it to you just how you want it, baby, just how I know you like it…” He groans low in his throat, his sharp teeth trailing over Stiles’ heated cheek, “You need it so bad, don’t you…” Derek says, inhaling Stiles’ scent. Stiles can’t manage anything more than a faltering nod, his pupils blown wide; Derek meets his gaze with a smoldering, dark stare, his eyes full of shameless need.

“Tell me how bad you need it, Stiles…” Derek suddenly orders, his voice breathless. Even after all the years, Stiles still blushes. Stiles opens his mouth but all that comes out is a loud moan as Derek’s cock nearly catches on the rim of Stiles’ winking hole; he hunches himself over, desperate to assist in burying himself on Derek’s fat cock, but Derek holds him at bay, teasingly pulling his dick back until it drags against the underside of Stiles’ tightly drawn-up balls. “Tell me.” Derek growls again, and Stiles shivers at the danger underlying the werewolf’s tone. Stiles licks his lips, his eyes never leaving Derek’s,

“ _Fuck_ , Derek, I don’t just want your huge cock in me, I want your _knot_. I need your fucking knot— _ugh!_ —” Derek can’t help but begin humping fruitlessly against Stiles again, trying to gain purchase on wet skin, “—Oh, _shit_ , please! I want you to fuck me, Derek, so bad! Fill me with your come…” He pulls Derek’s face towards him until their lips clash together, their tongues coming out to war with each other, messy and sloppy, 

“…I want you to fuck me so good every goddamn werewolf for miles will know my ass belongs to you,” Derek’s fangs run too sharply against Stiles’ lips and blood begins to bead there; it shouldn’t be so hot, but Stiles loves it when Derek sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and then resumes the kiss so Stiles can taste a hint of the metallic flavor of his own blood on his tongue. With hardly a pause, Derek lets Stiles down, his legs shaking as if he’d just run a marathon, and spins him around until he’s leaning over the built in corner seat, his ass offered up like a prize. From the brief glimpse Stiles caught before being manhandled into the wall, Derek is outrageously hard; his cock, which already seems as thick as it is long, is bulbous at the base where his knot has already started to emerge. There’s always a small shiver of fear that Stiles experiences when he sees it for the first time during their lovemaking, but it also sends his erogenous zones into sensory overload; he can’t wait to feel that familiar stretch that makes his balls tingle and his dick jerk.

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles urges, his voice wavering, frantic, “Come on! Fuck me…” He all but whines and leans back to press his ass against Derek’s erection, which stands rigidly against his stomach. Derek snarls, and, although it’s not meant to be threatening, it is still volatile; Derek runs his hands over Stiles’ back until they come to the globes of his ass, where they spread his cheeks approvingly. Removing one hand, Derek milks his cock until he collects a fair amount of pre-come at the top; he steps forward and runs the head of his dick up Stiles’ crack, starting from the rosebud of his entrance. Derek smears the viscous liquid around Stiles’ hole with his thumb before pressing the digit inside; Stiles arches his back at the sudden intrusion and cries out. It isn’t enough.

“ _Derek_ , you jerk, _please_! I want to get fucked _today_!” Stiles snaps, and Derek lets out a low grumble, his thumb leaving Stiles’ ass. Just as Stiles is going to open his mouth to beg, Derek grabs the base of his long dick and guides the head to Stiles’ entrance; Stiles immediately goes quiet, and the only sound in the bathroom is the steady pitter-patter of the shower. Derek’s cock slowly slides into the tight confines of Stiles’ ass, and Stiles takes it all without so much as a peep; his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth goes lax, as if he were torn between screaming for more and emitting the world’s longest moan.

Just as soon as Derek bottoms out, his bulging knot sitting snuggly between Stiles’ ass cheeks, he pulls almost all the way back out and then slams home again. God, it had been so long since they last had sex. Derek would never forget what it feels like to be balls deep in his mate’s ass, but the sensation after so many weeks, even months, without this kind of intimacy has his head spinning and his knot ready to explode. He begins to jackhammer into Stiles, who crams a knee into the corner seat and rests his forearm against the wall to prevent his head from being knocked into the tiling and split open like a watermelon, a very happy watermelon; Derek grips Stiles’ hips bruisingly tight and thrusts long and deep into his ass, trying desperately on each upward thrust to lodge his knot behind that tight ring of muscle. It’s quiet for a brief moment, except for the sound of the water squelching between their bodies and the wet slap of Derek’s balls against Stiles’ ass; it’s obscene and incredibly hot. The silence doesn’t last long though, because Stiles begins letting out a continuous litany of moans as Derek gets closer and closer to tying him up for good. Suddenly, Derek reaches forward until his arm is circled around Stiles’ shoulder, his palm flat against his chest; he pulls him backward so his back nearly lines up with Derek’s chest and gravity pulls Stiles’ ass almost straight down on his pulsing cock. Stiles whimpers when he feels the pressure of Derek’s knot, huge and constant now.

With his other arm, Derek loops it under Stile’s left armpit and across Stiles’ chest so he can grip his right shoulder and use it as leverage to begin pounding into Stiles’ perfect ass harder, faster. It isn’t long before Derek’s rhythm begins to speed up, his fucking becoming frantic; Derek is getting close. As if Stiles can read his mind, he starts to undulate his hips, meeting Derek’s every thrust with his own; Derek lets out a high-pitched growl, something he would never admit to, even to Stiles who enjoys goading him about it from time to time. Stiles clenches his ass on the upstroke and relaxes on the down stroke, eager for that one thrust that will pop Derek’s massive knot right past his aching ring of muscle. Derek’s thrusting is becoming more and more sporadic, and, as if on cue, he circles his free hand around Stiles’ body and begins jacking him off in quick, strong pumps of his fist, eager to bring Stiles over the edge with him.

At the sudden added sensation on his sensitive dick, Stiles rears back and slams himself down on Derek’s throbbing erection. Part of the knot slips inside and Derek cries out as the beginnings of an intense pleasure spark behind his eyelids; out of instinct, Derek hunches over Stiles and begins driving into him with small, powerful thrusts, like an animal, like the werewolf he is. A string of low growls continues to escape Derek as his knot slowly but surely slips into Stiles’ body, and Stiles moans as he reaches behind him to grab at Derek’s body, pulling him forward greedily and writhing against the turgid cock buried deep in his ass.

Derek’s hand is still working frantically at Stile’s cock, but he pulls it away just as one last, hard plunge has Derek’s fully engorged knot embedded in the incredibly tight, hot heat of Stiles’ wet hole. Stiles tries to stifle his cry behind his fist as it’s pressed against his lips but fails miserably; his cock is pumping out long, thick strands of come, untouched, just as Derek’s shuttering hips signal the start of his own release. Stiles can feel Derek emptying a massive load deep into his body and shivers with intense gratification.

They stand in the shower for a moment, trying to catch their breath, before Stiles suddenly shivers again, not because of the mind-blowing sex, but because the shower is running ice cold now. Stiles lets out an annoyed grumble, and Derek reaches over to shut it off. Because they’re still knotted, and will be for a good while, Derek wraps Stiles up in his arms, careful not to pull or push too hard, and maneuvers them out of the shower; it’s much less graceful than one would think, and Stiles laughs at him the whole way to the bedroom. When they drop gratefully to the bed, still soaking wet but too whacked out on a post-sex high to care, they can’t think of a better place they’d want to be. Derek is still pumping come into Stiles ever so often; at times, Stiles will give a teasing roll of his hips to milk Derek for all he’s worth, and Derek will grouch at him, but with a small, for-Stiles-only smile playing across his lips all the while.

As they’re beginning to fall asleep, Stiles thinks about how he might not know what tomorrow will bring, what danger it might hold, but there is one thing he does know for sure: he and Derek Hale just had shower sex, and it was amazing, and it will definitely be happening again.


End file.
